Page 37 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

From what I could gather, he’d served in Rome’s army before it withdrew from Britain. This Roman had—allegedly—deserted and fled north of the wall.

All speculation, of course.

According to one soldier’s journal, reports spoke of a Roman traitor who’d fled a great fire. One man described him as ‘a hulking, yellow-maned brute.’

When asked about the fire, the soldier recorded various accounts, all along the same lines: a wicked wind, an inferno lit without a spark, the wrath of a god without a name.

Centuries later, soldiers heard reports of the dead rising to guard the living. From barkeeps to brothels, stories spread of a man wrought o’ flame, bearing the sun o’ Rome on his shield. A yellow-headed lion of a man, sent by the gods to defend them from raiders. Others believed he was the ghost of Rome itself, now guarding the land against new invaders from the south.

Bellpost’s account? A nomadic soul with a great deal of power who used it only when it suited him and answered to no clan.

I hadn’t been this fascinated since Charles and I became obsessed with the Obsidian Crown—a relic said to bestow the powers of the veil, now sitting safely beneath lock and key inside the Grayshell bunker.

“I’m telling you, there’s something there,” I insisted.

Two mentions didn’t exactly amount to a stack of evidence in my favor, but when I stumbled across that second story, the hair rose along my arms. I’d spent the next two days thumbing back through every other record until I found the first.

A loud yawn had us both looking sidelong at Gio as he rose from the couch beside the empty hearth. “We’re back at this again, are we?”

“Fuck off, Gio.”

He snorted, but I didn’t miss the flash of guilt in his eyes.

His betrayal hurt nearly as much as Freya’s. I’d gone to bat for this fucker, and he’d left me down there in that goddamned cell. But he’d been a damn good captain for Freya. And yeah, the asshole apologized every chance he got. His own grief after the slaughter of his city made it impossible to hold much of a grudge.

But… I would’ve died before letting them carve him apart like that.

There comes a time when every man must stare down an order and turn his back to prove his convictions aren’t conditional. Performative.

If his values were dictated by whoever barked the orders, then the man didn’t possess character.

He was a caricature.

Gio had missed his opportunity to be a good man, and I wasn’t inclined to offer him another.

“You gotta admit, Cy, you’re grasping at straws.”

Maybe. But I wasn’t telling him that. Not when my instincts insisted I was onto something.

“How many golden-haired, flame-wielding Romans do you know?”

A hollowness settled around the words, and I knew the same face had come to mind for all of us.

Clearing his throat, Carr awkwardly supplied, “The Ardensians were pyros.”

“But they wouldn’t reach their peak for another couple of centuries,” I argued. “Hundreds of years bridge that gap.”

“And what are a few centuries in the lifespan of an immortal?”

Gio gave a noncommittal shrug but wisely kept his mouth shut.

“I’m just saying,” Carr added, lifting his hands defensively. “Rome left loads of artifacts behind. Those settlements were riddled with weapons and gold. It could’ve been any raider who stumbled across the right stash.”

I couldn’t retaliate because the door lit blue, and both my companions stood to salute. I didn’t bother doing the same as I turned to find a tearful Freya stepping through the portal.

Fear wrapped a cruel fist around my heart as I took in her disheveled appearance. She’d lost patience with her hair this week and lopped it off. Her impulsivity irritated me, but she’d accomplished her mission. No Renown could grab hold of it during a fight now. The remaining strands must’ve been bothering her because she kept running her hands through them.

“Relax,” she sighed. “Just me.”